A soft lip tint gave her mouth a luminous, faintly pink glow—a shade that invited a kind of dangerous fascination. The delicate line of rosy eyeliner traced along her lids made those already captivating red eyes even more striking, even more compelling.
She was like a single inspired brushstroke dropped onto an unremarkable canvas—and with it, the dull palette of the classroom was instantly transformed.
"She's a girl…?"
"She's so cute…"
(③)
The entire class reacted as one—a wave of admiring, astonished looks, whispers and murmurs overlapping. The dead weight that had been sitting over the room lifted in an instant; every pair of eyes converged on the new arrival. The boys in particular went red in the face, unable to look away.
"My name is Inori Yuzuriha. I look forward to getting to know everyone."
She tilted her lips into a soft smile, and two small dimples appeared.
Inori Yuzuriha knew her foundation was rare—truly one in ten thousand—and she refused to let a face as beautiful as this one go to waste.
So she had learned: different ways to braid and style her hair, how to do her makeup, how to make her smile look its most captivating.
—Inori wants to be cute, too!
"No… that can't be right."
Hare Menjou's expression was something to behold.
She shoved her chair back and stood up, her almond-shaped eyes flickering with shock and fear, her lips trembling around a single sentence. She absolutely could not understand how the transfer student standing at the front of the room could possibly be Inori. Nothing about it made sense—legally, logistically, by any measure. She had no official identity. How had she even filed the enrollment paperwork? Wasn't she afraid of what this could bring down on her?
"It's really true."
Inori looked at Hare's round, doll-like face and said it with great seriousness.
She hadn't told Hare any of this in advance. She had wanted to surprise her.
"Wait—Inori? Isn't that the vocalist of EGOIST?"
EGOIST carried real weight these days, and whoever said that out loud threw a stone into still water. Wave after wave spread from that single remark.
Unlike in the original, EGOIST was no longer the niche project it had once been—one song called "Euterpe" and little else. Inori's EGOIST had branched in two directions: heavy metal and ethereal, both flourishing. She wrote her own material, her vocal technique was exceptional, and her appearance was beyond reproach. A singer this rare had earned fans in droves.
The release of her new song just days ago had pushed Inori's popularity to another peak entirely. She had, for now, become the defining name among online idol figures. Even people who ordinarily dismissed that world had been converted to casual fans after enough of their friends sent them her music.
Inori received business and collaboration requests from entertainment companies in her inbox every day—and declined every one. She had always known exactly what she wanted. Debuting as an official artist was something she might consider after she had settled all of this. Resolved all the threads of cause and effect.
"Is it really… is it really you, Inori?"
One boy stared at Inori, his earlier admiration quietly reshaping itself into something more reverent.
"EGOIST's genius vocalist is going to be our classmate?"
"I have to be dreaming. Someone please wake me up!"
Inori let all of it wash past her. She played the part of the sweet, quiet transfer student—waited for the teacher to assign her a seat, then made her way there. As she passed Hare's desk, she stuck her tongue out briefly and pulled a tiny, teasing expression, her fingers trailing lightly across Hare's shoulder.
(③)
To do something that intimate in front of the entire class was the same as announcing to everyone that she and Hare Menjou had known each other before today.
Hare was striking enough in appearance, but she was deeply introverted, easily embarrassed, and—with Inori at home—rarely participated in class activities. Outside of her best friend Kanon Kusama, very few people knew much about her.
But after what Inori just did? That was a different story. The hottest name in the online music world had just made it publicly known that Hare was her friend. They must have all sorts of interesting history between them—everyone would be dying to know.
The spotlight split. Where it had been fixed entirely on Inori, now a portion of it fell on Hare. Girls began whispering, speculating about their relationship. Hare registered it immediately, felt the heat rise in her cheeks, and put her face down on her desk.
—Inori. Just you wait. When we get home I am going to give you a very thorough talking-to. And you are going to explain every single thing.
"Hm? Did I have something on my face?"
Inori paused at the desk of a brown-haired boy sitting alone near the window at the back, turning her head slightly with a serene smile.
"N-no! I mean—I'm sorry!"
The boy fumbled completely, tripping over his own words, barely coherent. Inori could practically feel his panic radiating outward—even his ears had gone red.
—Hmph.
Inori dismissed it in silence.
Externally, the same calm smile. She turned and settled into the seat beside him, reached up to push a strand of hair back behind her ear—then glanced sideways and found him already sneaking a look at her.
"I'm Inori. What's your name?"
"Ah—I, I'm Shu. Shu Ouma." He rushed the answer out, and in those reddish-brown eyes there was something he was trying to conceal—a flicker of startled happiness.
"I look forward to it."
"N-no—I'm the one who should say that, Inori."
Aah, the gentle male lead. Sitting in his canonical protagonist seat, with the mysterious transfer-student idol having naturally landed in the desk right beside him. Inori had been imagining this moment for a long time. She had been a young man herself in a previous life—but watching someone else come undone on her account was, she had to admit, deeply satisfying.
Inori had been awake since she woke up in that laboratory—a year and a half now. She was long accustomed to this—accustomed to being a young woman with a delicate face, accustomed to people reacting to her in all the ways they tended to react. It had become natural.
"Damn it! Shu's so smug!"
"I'm so jealous… I want to talk to Inori too…"
"Everyone settle down."
The teacher at the front cleared his throat, and the restless classroom quieted—temporarily.
...
...
In the aftermath of that event—the one that had shaken the entire country—Gai began building his organization's strength in earnest. Through his unique network of connections, he reached out to corporations and private financial backers who hungered for Japan's return to true sovereignty. Most of them were old-fashioned nationalists, blind to whatever benefits the GHQ had actually brought, driven purely by the dream of national revival. Gai gave them what they needed: a glimpse of hope. In return, funding flowed steadily his way.
Money meant more personnel. More personnel meant better equipment.
The effect of winning a battle was this obvious, because nobody places their hope in someone who only knows how to talk.
(③)
Inside the Funeral Parlor base, Gai sat with his upper half bare beneath a draped coat. He had been ready to sleep—the towering stack of intelligence documents on his desk could wait until morning, when he'd be sharp enough to read them properly—but an incoming call request interrupted that plan.
He saw the name on the screen and was immediately, fully alert.
It was the most critical figure behind everything that had yielded these results: the girl with the Void, Inori—and behind her, the "boss," Diavolo.